


Asylum Epilogue

by Sensue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e10 Asylum, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Asylum was an amazing episode, but they left the end hanging. My attempt to fill in the blanks. Dean is in pain. Cross-posted on Fanfiction.net
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Asylum Epilogue

_(Dean's POV)_

Dean drove away from the asylum in complete silence. Even the car stereo, which after a 'winning' hunt was usually blasting with Queen or ACDC, was erringly silent. There was no conversation, no jokes, or funny childhood stories between the two brothers on their trip to the nearest motel. It was the first time in Dean's life that he felt uncomfortable around Sam.

"All I want to do is get some sleep," it was the last thing that Dean had said before they drove off. He would not allow Sam to apologize to him; in his brain, he knew that the spirit of Dr. had caused him to act, for lack of a better term, crazy and shoot him in the chest. But in his heart-He'd never been hurt worse in his life. His beloved brother hated him enough to want to kill him.

Dean's hands trembled, forcing him to tighten his grip on the steering wheel to maintain control of both the car and himself. He felt Sam's stare but refused to turn to look at him. He didn't need Sam's guilt right now, he had enough of his own.

He had failed his little brother. He failed to keep him safe, protected him against the evils in the world. Their father was on a quest for revenge, one that Dean had not been able to free himself from his entire life. Sam, always the odd one out, had wanted a normal life since the moment he discovered that their family was 'different'-he wanted to be one of them, wanted that type of lifestyle.

Dean wanted to say that he discouraged Sam from his dream of being normal because it was the right thing to do; that the fight against evil and saving the innocent was worth his brother's unhappiness, but that would be a lie.

The truth was Dean was afraid. Afraid of being alone, afraid of dying alone. It was a fear that had been instantly ingrained in his mind the day his mother had died. The day that she died forever changed the rest of his life. Their father, the most caring and gentle person in his life, the man who would read him stories at bedtime and taught in to ride his bicycle, had died along with his mother, leaving behind a revenge-driven demon hunter. Instantly, Sam had become the only innocent left in the family with Dean as his caretaker and protector.

While their father was busy trailing 'supernatural' tales across the country, Sam was Dean's playmate and only friend in the world. Sure, they'd met millions of people, but knew none of them long enough to call them friends. Most of the time they would lie about who they were anyway, every city had a new alias.

His brother was a stubborn one, though. Sam never sat still, always questioning everything that their father had told them, wanting to know more and wanting to know 'why?'. As he grew up, the fighting got worse until one day, the worse day in Dean's life, Sam left them-left him alone.

John Winchester had been livid and in a moment of pure stupidity told Sam not to come back. Dean, who'd been listening from the bathroom where he'd run, forced himself not to cry at the sound of the door slam. At that moment, he felt betrayed. He'd given up his whole life, his childhood, to take care of his brother and he'd left him without even saying goodbye.

Dean forced himself not to groan as he felt his chest tighten, focusing on breathing deeply. It was becoming a necessity for him to stop soon, his chest could not take his upright position for much longer. He spotted the red sign of a cheap motel by the side of the road and nearly side-swiping another vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

The pain was becoming worse, he noticed right away as he leaned down to pull the keys from the ignition. That small movement made his body throb with agony. Biting his lip, he pushed the door open and gingerly got out of the car, not bothering to even look behind him to see if his brother was following him to the front office.

Whipping out a fake id and fake credit card, he handed them to the clerk at the desk, filled out the appropriate paperwork, and got the keys to their room. Walking over to the assigned room, he quickly spotted the bathroom and ducked into it before Sam took his jacket off.

The door closed and locked with a small click. Once alone, Dean let the pain show, tears streamed down his face as he felt himself slide to the ground. Silent drops of dirt and dust-filled teardrops fell in front of him. Placing a hand against his chest, he winced at his own light touch, knowing that he'd fractured a couple of ribs at the very least.

A soft knock on the door made him jump slightly, groaning slightly at the pain the movement caused. "Yeah? What do you want? Can't a guy pee in peace?" He called out.

The sound of feet backing away from the door and Sam's soft, "sorry," made him ashamed that he'd been severe with Sam, but he needed a few more minutes to compose himself. Wiping at his face with his sleeve, he levered himself up off the floor and leaned against the bathroom sink to stare at himself in the mirror.

Hell probably looked nicer than he did at that moment. Cobwebs and dust attached themselves to every hair follicle on his head, while dirt from his clothes had spread across his face extenuating the tearstains that he'd tried to hide.

He adjusted the tap, then splashed water on his face, washing away the evidence. He lowered his head so that he could quickly wash his hair in the sink, and just used the soap in the tray as shampoo. Once he looked a little cleaner, he unbuttoned his shirt to view the damage caused by the rock salt. His chest was almost entirely red, small broken blood vessels soon would form massive bruising across his rib cage. He touched the deep red marks, wincing again with a hiss.

It hurt to breathe.

If it had been any other time, he most likely would've asked Sam to wrap his chest; if it hurt to breathe, it was usually a huge sign of a fractured or broken rib. It needed to be wrapped to keep it stable and to prevent it from puncturing a lung, causing a pneumothorax. It wasn't one of those times.

Dean re-buttoned his shirt, then straightened, replacing his mask as he walked back into the room where Sam had been waiting for him to come out.

Shaking his head once, he held up a hand, then took the bed closest to the bathroom. Lying down, all he wanted to do was sleep and forget.

It didn't take long for Sam to give up trying to speak to him, taking the bed closest to the door to rest. He could still feel Sam's eyes on him as he dozed.

Giving up the pretense, Dean turned his back on his little brother, covered his eyes with his arm, then let himself stop fighting sleep. It overtook him just as quickly.

* * *

_**(Sam's POV)** _

Sam stared at his brother's back one final time before turning his face away from Dean's bed to angrily wipe his eyes. Dean hadn't looked at him once since they'd left the asylum and he couldn't blame him. He couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror without remembering what he had done.

His breath hiccupped as a tear escaped the tightly closed lids. The memories flooded his mind. It was as if he was watching everything happen from a barred window unable to escape the torture of what he was seeing in front of him. Sam watched himself with wide eyes, watching as his finger pull the trigger, and the salt rock bullets spiral and hit Dean's chest, sending him crashing through the secret door and into the devil doctor's den. He had seen and heard every word spoken and every action he committed against his brother. He'd almost killed his brother-he almost shot him, point-blank, in the heart with a gun that Dean had handed him. "If you hate me that much, why don't you kill me?" Dean had told him and the crazy spirit that had taken over happily obliged him by pulling the trigger. Thanking whatever spirits above protected his brother, the gun was not loaded.

Rubbing his face, he bit his lip at the memory of what he'd told Dean before he'd shot him. That he was tired of following his orders, of doing whatever he wanted-what their father wanted. A small cry flew from his mouth, unnoticed by the sleeping lump in the other bed. Right before the cell phone had rung, he had been thinking that he hated it when Dean bossed him around, very upset that the strangers he had been leading to safety believed Dean was in command of their 'operation.' He was so sick of Dean and his cocky attitude-Sam wanted his own life, one that did not revolve around hunting things that went bump in the night. Sam never thought- The damned spirit made his last thought come true, in the most horrible way that it could. By making him kill his own flesh and blood.

Dean had always been there for him, always, and without a single doubt, Sam knew Dean would die for him, just as he would die to protect Dean. Dean saved his life countless times, most recently in their childhood home, unwrapping the cord that had wrapped around his throat and coaching him to breathe. Though they never spoke about it, Sam felt Dean trembling as he held him against his shoulder tightly, obviously just as scared as he had been at the close call of death.

Sam felt his head was spiraling out of orbit as he tried to grasp the situation for what it really was. He-Sam Winchester-had shot his brother and nearly killed him. And now, his brother Dean was completely ignoring him. He had to make Dean listen to him; had to make him understand that he never meant to hurt him and that he didn't mean the things that he had said.

Turning back to face his brother's bed, he just watched the rise and fall of the sheets as Dean breathed while he thought of how to apologize; assuming, of course, that Dean would let him. This time, he promised himself, he wasn't going to let Dean get away from talking to him. He needed to tell him how he felt and needed him to understand how much he loved him; Dean was his brother.

The sound of the phone jarred him from his thoughts. "Dean?" Sam called out, assuming that Dean would get up to answer his phone as he always did. This time, the sound did not seem to register as Dean continued to sleep soundly.

Shaking his head slightly, he picked up the cell phone and opened the flap. "Hello?" No one answered him in response. A thought came to Sam, "Dad? Dad, is that you?" No one answered as the phone disconnected with its usual humming buzz.

He stared at the cell phone in his hand after he had slowly shut it off with a weary sigh. Why couldn't it have been his father? Why didn't he _know_ that his sons needed him right now?

Sam was tired now, feeling that his energy was suddenly drained from him. He felt as if he had been on an emotional rollercoaster the last few months with this last adventure the icing on the cake. Propping himself on the pillows behind him, Sam let the weariness take over. Maybe, just this once he wouldn't dream of Jessica's death above his bed, knowing in his heart, the nightmare of killing his own brother would haunt him for weeks to come.

* * *

_**(both Sam & Dean's POV)** _

_Next day_

Dean woke suddenly at the sound of the door opening, his body tensing, making his chest tighten further as he gasped to breathe normally. Automatically, he reached under his pillow for a weapon, panicking when he realized that in his hurry to get into a bed, he didn't put one in reach.

"Dean?" Sam called out to him, "Are you okay? You've been sleeping for almost fifteen hours."

Dean almost cried with relief that it was just Sam and not someone else sneaking up to attack him while he slept. It had happened only once right after Sam had left to go to college and his father had let him go off alone in a hunt. In the middle of the night, a drug addict had broken into the cheap motel room where he stayed in order to rob him. Asleep he wasn't as quick or agile, and the man who had broken in gave him a huge cut across his arm swiping at him with a rusted Swiss-army knife before Dean had knocked him unconscious.

Dean didn't answer. He couldn't, knowing his voice would break if he tried to speak. The sleep dampened his senses, the pain becoming tolerated while his body relaxed in order to heal itself. Problem was that he was awake now and the pain was excruciating. Dean couldn't move, not a single muscle without the stabbing sensation tearing him apart.

Sam walked over to his side of the bed, kneeling in front of him. "Dean?" His eyes shone with concern as he spoke. Reaching out, Sam itched to touch his brother but pulled back at the last moment with the realization that he had caused the pain that Dean was now in. "Oh, god," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Dean breathed heavily, "Sam? It's okay. I'll be okay. I just need to catch my breath." Clenching his teeth, the hard gasp betrayed his words. He felt Sam's hands, one on his shoulder the other on his knee. They were gentle.

"Dean? Just relax, alright? Breath and relax." Sam rubbed his shoulder, whispering instructions in his ear trying to get him to relax. Dean just closed his eyes, trying to comply, knowing that if he relaxed it would get easier to breathe. He felt Sam's hands adjusting his position on the bed, pulling up his knees closer to his chest, and turning him slowly so that he lie on his back instead of his side. A pillow slid under his knees, lifting them in a more comfortable position for his ribs.

The movement hurt, he couldn't lie about that or mask it in any way from his face, knowing it was contorted in pain and tears. Through it all, he gasped out a quick thanks. Sam didn't answer, his eyes shone with guilt. "Dean, I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to grab the first aid kit from the car." Without waiting for an answer, Sam ran out as quickly as he could and grabbed the large first aid kit from behind the passenger seat.

Dean lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to his brother's footsteps as he ran back to his side, the kit contents clanging as he strode over. Dean shut his eyes as Sam sat on the edge of the bed, completely missing the look of hurt Sam had on his face. Dean still wouldn't look at him. Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything but shut it after he realized that he didn't know what to say that would make everything better. There was nothing he could say. Everything was out in the open, in a moment of insanity he had spewed every horrible thought against his brother.

His lip quivered, so he swallowed hard before continuing his litany of nonsense, not even sure that Dean could hear him. "Dean, I need to see how bad I-how bad the wounds are, so I'll just get this shirt off, alright?"

Dean, eyes still closed, answered roughly, his voice hard and seemingly uncaring, "Whatever, Sam."

Sam rubbed his face with his palm, pressing it in between his eyes. He was getting a headache from the tension, but he forced himself to ignore it and to pay attention to the man in front of him. Slowly, he pulled unbuttoned the shirt starting at the neck and moving down until the entire shirt was open. Dean did not wear undershirts, hating the constriction of too many layers of clothing.

Sam gasped, placing a hand against his mouth to keep from screaming at the massive multi-colored bruises covering his brother's chest. "Dean! Why the hell didn't you tell me that it was that bad?"

Dean a sly smile now back on his face, taking on a sarcastic tone, "Gee, I don't know, Sam. I've never been shot in the chest with rock salt at close range. I thought I could handle it. After all, I've been bruised before-it just never hurt this bad."

Sam shook his head at him, "Dean, stop it! This isn't funny. Your lung could collapse or you could have internal bleeding. This is serious. I could've-." He stopped, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "God, Dean. I almost killed you."

Dean finally opened his eyes to look at his brother, they were shiny and wet as he tried to keep the tears from spilling over like his brother's. Sam was crying, both hands covering his face. "Sammy…don't. I seriously, I can't do this right now. Please, just stop."

Nodding, Sam quickly composed himself and wiped off the traces of his breakdown. He got up to wash his face in the bathroom, staring at himself for the first time since the asylum. He didn't even feel the pain, only heard the noise as the mirror shattered under his fist. Once he started, he couldn't stop-pounding the mirror in order to erase his reflection. "Damn it! Damn you!" Over and over he hit the glass, cutting into his hands making them bleed.

Blood dripped down into the sink, mixing with the trailing water down the sewer unnoticed. "SAM!" He heard Dean's shout and his moans as he tried to get up out of bed to come to his side. "SAMMY!"

Sam fell to his knees, his bloodied hands covering his face. Dean forced the pain away for a moment, putting it in the back of his mind as he crawled across the floor to get to his baby brother. Once he'd reached him, he sat beside him, trying to catch his breath-not touching but merely being near him.

Sam turned his face towards his brother, undisturbed by the fact that he was now covered with his own blood, sweat, and tears, "Dean, how could you stand to be near me right now? I tried to kill you. God, if there were bullets in that gun, you would be dead. The things that I said-I tried to tell myself that I didn't mean them, that it wasn't me that said them, but it was. It was me and everything I said had been inside of me for years now. The things that I hated about you and Dad: our 'freak' family. The times I wished we were normal…"

Dean listened as he wrapped Sam's hands with a towel to stop the flow of blood, his heartbreaking as his brother finally told him the truth about how he felt. Dean truly failed his brother. "You hate me. I-I never thought that you'd ever hate me."

Sam whipped around quickly, "NO! No, Dean. I don't hate you. I swear to you. I never hated you, I just-I just hated the position we were in; the lives that we led. I-all I wanted was to be normal and now…Dean, it's ME. I finally figured that out now. I did this. I hurt everyone I ever loved. Mom, Jess, and now you. I'm a freak."

Later on, Dean would swear that it was the pain that caused him to start crying, but it wasn't. The pain in his chest was nothing compared to the one in his heart.

Sam watched as the stoic, ever sarcastic and cocky brother he idolized sobbed. "Dean? Dean, what's wrong? Does it hurt?" He sat upon his heels to push Dean's hands away from his face, checking to make sure that he was still breathing.

"Yeah, Sammy. It hurts a lot. It hurts to know that you don't trust me; that you wanted me dead. But it's okay, Sammy. I promise that I'll get over it. I just need some time to-to to think, you know. I mean, Sam, I know that you're changing; that something happened to you in that house. Why do you think that I never wanted to go back there? It was that house that did this!" Dean bit his lip, drawing blood in his attempts not to scream. His ribs were on fire, the emotional outbursts not helping much. "And it hurts because I couldn't protect you from it. I- God, Sammy-I tried so hard. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe. I wanted to teach you to fight those bastards; not to be a victim, like Mom. And I couldn't even do that right." His words came out in sobs, not noticing that Sam had wrapped his arms around his shoulders and was holding him against his chest.

They both sat there on the cold hotel bathroom floor for hours, holding each other for comfort and support. The storm passed slowly, making them both feel weak and without energy. Dean's chest had tightened uncomfortably, so he lay down on his side, his head and neck resting against his little brother's legs as Sam rested his hands against Dean, not breaking their perilous connection.

Dean let his eyes open to stare at Sam once more time before shutting them again to sleep, "Sammy?"

Sam gave him a slight smile, "Yeah, Dean?"

"We're really fucked up, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know that."

* * *

_**(Sam's POV)** _

For the first time in his life, Dean fell asleep in his little brother's arms. Even as children, it was Sam who'd sneak into Dean's bed and fall asleep near his brother to chase away the monsters that haunted his dreams—never the other way around. It was enough to shake Sam to the core, knowing that Dean had to be seriously hurt.

Sam bit his lip further, as he stared at his hands. They had stopped bleeding a while ago; scatters of small cuts marked them—a remnant of his burst of rage against his own guilty reflection. The cuts would heal quickly, he thought, faster than the damage they had caused to his brother and their relationship.

Dean looked uncomfortable, and even in sleep, his brow was contorted in pain. He lay on his side, shirtless and becoming cold, the shivering and twitching becoming more frequent. Sam had to get him off the bathroom floor; the problem was that there was no way of moving him without causing him more pain. He'd have to wrap his arms around his chest to lift him and there was no way that he could move Dean without waking him first.

Resting a hand on the top of Dean's head, he rubbed his short hair slightly, softly calling his name in order to wake him. When he didn't immediately open his eyes, Sam's heart jumped in his throat. Moving to shift Dean off his legs and flat on the ground, Sam yelled Dean's name as he ran his hands gently down his body, focusing on his ribs. He was becoming more and more concerned when Dean didn't waken.

A moan escaped Dean's lips as Sam ran his knuckles down his sternum in his desperation to wake him. "Dean! Wake up!" Sam fought hard to keep the panic from overtaking rational thought. "Shit!" Jumping to his feet, he ran to get the cell phone that lay on the nightstand where he threw it after the wrong numbered call and dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1. What is your emergency?" The man on the line sounded bored and robotic.

"Help. My-my brother, Dean-He's hurt. Unconscious on the ground. I need help." Sam yelled into the phone, running back to his brother's side and immediately checking for a pulse. The light thumping of his pulse under his fingers a reassuring sign that Dean was still alive.

"Sir, where are you located?"

Confusion arose as panic overtook him, making him forget the name of the cheap motel that they rented a room from, "I-Um-A motel, it's right down the road from the Asylum. We're in room 211. Hurry. He's been having trouble breathing and now I can't wake him."

The man was calm as he answered him, "Alright, I have the police and an ambulance dispatched. They should be there in about three minutes. Is your brother breathing now?"

"Yes." Thank god, Sam thought. "Dean! Wake up!" He tried again, this time shaking his shoulders. Another pitiful moan was the only response. As his breathing became more labored, Dean's lips started to turn blue. Sam felt helpless as he just stared-there was nothing more that he could do. And it was all his fault. Depression, guilt, hopelessness, and fear all fought for dominance.

What seemed like an eternity later, the sounds of sirens filled the air, making Sam jump from his thoughts. Lightening speed, he ran to the door to wave down the help that had finally arrived.

"HELP! In here!" Sam flapped his arms, waiting until the police officers that had driven up nodded and started to follow before running back to the bathroom and to his brother's side.

Medical emergency personnel soon filled the small motel room; one of the E.M.T.'s had grabbed hold of him, pushing him out of the way as his partners soon strapped Dean into a gurney to take him to the nearest hospital.

"Dispatch, this is Metro 454. I have a 26-year-old male with a possible pneumothorax; non-responsive. Vitals are stable, yet high with a heart rate of 121, BP of 180/92. Respirations are erratic. ETA to C.M.C (County Medical Center) about five minutes." The EMT turned to Sam, "Are you coming with us?"

Sam could only nod, his hand covering his mouth to keep from screaming in frustration and fear. He jumped in the passenger seat where he was pushed. The sirens flashed and the ambulance was on its way, speeding down the road at a speed that Dean only attempted in the blackest and quietest of nights.

And as the sirens filled the night air, Sam prayed.

* * *

_**(Sam's POV)** _

As they wheeled his brother into the Emergency Room, the sounds of people shouting orders and the commotion of the medical personnel increased drastically. His mind was practically spinning as the male EMT who had been monitoring Dean shouted out new vital signs to the attending physician, "Respirations and vitals were erratic in the rig, as he fluctuated in and out of consciousness. Lost breath sounds on the left two minutes ago, blood pressure dropped dramatically soon after."

Sam ran in after them but was stopped by a nurse who had roughly pushed him out of the trauma room. He wanted to watch from the window, but the shades were quickly drawn down to prevent him from watching. He was still in panic mode, upset by what he'd heard. The EMT's were on their way back to their 'rig', so Sam ran after them. "Wait!"

They stopped in surprise but turned around. "You okay, kid?"

Sam was now breathing hard, "Yeah, but, wait, please. I just- My brother woke up?"

The two men looked at each other, giving each other a look. Pointing towards a row of chairs near the wall, they waited until he sat down to answer him. "Yeah, he woke up."

"But he didn't say anything-" Sam interrupted.

The older one kneeled down in front of him, "Name's Ben. That's Gary. What's yours, kid?"

"Sam. Please, just answer me."

The guy ran a hand down his face, "You know the docs can explain better- Hell, I'm breakin' that stupid HIPPA Act by even talking to you about this- But he woke up- blood pressure shot up sky high before he passed out, so I guess that he was really stressed out. It's scary, you know, not being able to breathe, strapped down to a bed, strange people poking you. He was aware of what was happening for a minute there, but after his lung collapsed; he lost consciousness again. I thought that he-uh-he mumbled 'Sammy' before he passed out. I figured that was you. Listen, kid. The docs here are good. If anyone can get him up and about, it's them. But, we've got to go now. You gonna be okay, kid?"'

Sam just nodded, completely numb. His brother asked for him-the same brother that had hurt him and called him pathetic. A soft cry escaped him before he was able to muffle himself. The nurses at the nurses' station kept giving him looks of pity. One of them kept offering him coffee as he waited for news on his brother. It took everything in him to snap at her, to tell her that all he wanted was to know if his brother was still alive-that he was okay. Everything else was meaningless.

A short time after that, the doors to the trauma room opened and they wheeled his brother out. A doctor walked out, his white coat had small sprinkles of blood-Dean's blood. "Hello, I'm Dr. David Bruce. You came in with Mr. Winchester?" The doctor held out his hand.

Sam shook it, "I'm his brother, Sam. How is he, doctor? Where are you taking him?" He asked as he watched a couple of transporters and a nurse wheeled him to the elevator.

"Let's move to a more private area, shall we?" The doctor walked him over to an office in the corner of the room before pointing him to a chair across from his desk as he sat down. "Mr. Winchester, your brother came in with a collapsed lung, two fractured ribs, and massive bruising to his chest. I have to ask, how did that happen? It looks as if he's been almost stoned to death."

Sam felt his heart beating in his throat, becoming lightheaded. He broke out into a cold sweat, making his hands tremble. He felt as if he was going to pass out.

The doctor quickly stood up to get him a cup of water, apologizing for his abruptness, before giving him the water to sip at.

Sam's mind was racing. He had no idea what to tell the man. That was usually Dean's area of expertise. "I'm not really sure what happened, you'd have to ask him. I just got back to our room and he was lying on the ground. Is he alright?"

The doctor sighed tiredly before patting the young man's shoulder, "We've stabilized him. Vital signs are back to normal and he's regained consciousness. He has a chest tube now, and it's re-inflated his left lung. That side apparently bore the brunt of the attack; however, there doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding. The tube will stay in until we're sure the lung has had enough time to heal. I'm just a little concerned that he might've also suffered some sort of head trauma, from his original loss of consciousness and lack of response. So, I've sent him to radiology for a CT and x-rays of his head, neck, and chest. Once we get the results back, hopefully, we should be able to get a better picture at recovery time. Until then, we'll just monitor his lungs, give him pain killers for the pain, and an anti-inflammatory."

Sam asked the question that had been on his mind since they arrived at the hospital, "Can I please see him?"

"Of course, if you want, you can go up to radiology with him. It's on the third floor. The nurses can direct you if you have any questions. Young man, your brother was very lucky today. You did a good thing by calling for help. Now, go see him." With a flick of his wrist, he shooed Sam out of the room.

Sam smiled his thanks, then practically vaulted out of the chair and down the hall to get to the elevator. Impatiently, he tapped his foot waiting until the carriage arrived. Walking in, he waited until the other passengers entered before pressing "3" for the third floor. The elevator jerked, making his feel like his stomach had bounced, then dropped it back into place as it slowed and stopped at the correct floor. It didn't take a rocket scientist to follow the signs to radiology.

There in the hall, Dean lay on a gurney attached to an EKG heart monitor, I.V.s, and a chest tube. Next to him, was a pretty nurse who was taking his pulse and writing it in his chart as she chatted. As he neared, Sam could hear her joking about being a vampire in disguise.

Dean didn't answer her; he didn't even smile. And that worried Sam more than his injuries, walking up to them, he couldn't help but notice how tense Dean was. Walking up to his cart, Sam greeted his brother with a quiet, "Hey, Dean."

* * *

**(Dean's POV)**

Dean turned at the sound of his brother's voice, hope filling him. Sam didn't leave him-hadn't run away when he needed him the most. "Sammy, you okay?" He asked.

Sam gave him a slight smile, standing beside the cart after the nurse had moved away to give them a little bit of privacy. "Yeah, Dean. I'm fine. You gave me a heart attack, but I'm fine."

The nurse conversed with the x-ray technologist, then walked back over to him. In an overly cheerful voice, she told him that they were done with the scans and x-rays and that she was going to see about getting him a room, before walking over to the corner phone, still within sight of her patient, to call Admissions for a room.

Grabbing the arm that was resting on the bed rail, he pulled his brother closer to him, his voice was shaking as he whispered in his brother's ear with desperation, "Sam. Sammy. We've got to get out of here, now!"

Sam's eyes grew wide with fear, looking around to assess the threat. When he didn't find an immediate one, he looked back at his brother, grasping his hand-the one that was squeezing his arm-gently. Sam's voice pitched low, "Dean, you're hurt. These people can help you. They aren't a threat-I mean, I know we've had problem in the past with social workers, but we're adults now, they can't do anything."

Dean shook his head at his brother, "Sam, please, it's not that. I- I have to get out of here. Damn it, Sam, you owe me." His chest was heaving now, making it harder on his healing lung to get him the oxygen that he required. The monitor starting beeping, making the nurse hang up the phone to rush over to check on him. Whipping out her stethoscope, she pulled down the cloth gown to check his breathing, then looked back on the monitor.

Turning accusingly towards Sam, her voice was no longer perky, "You're are upsetting your brother, Mr. Winchester. I think you should wait in the waiting room now. Perhaps, after we get Dean settled and calm again, you can see him then." Sternly, she pointed to the room labeled with a sign, waiting until Sam left before turning towards Dean again.

Dean grabbed the bottom of her scrub top before she could call the doctor for orders, "Miss, please. It wasn't my brother's fault. I just got a little upset, please. I need to see my brother. Please." He gave her his best "puppy dog face".

Unfortunately, she was immune to that face, because she pushed his hand off her shirt to tell him she had to report it as a 'medical event' during the time he was in her care. She told him he was still theoretically an "ER patient," until the time that he was to be admitted to the pulmonary department and that his care was her responsibility. Ignoring a second attempt, she called down to the doctors in the ER, who then ordered a sedative to be administered.

Dean cursed his weakness, he couldn't prevent her from injecting him through the IV. In a doze, he watched the fluorescent lights above his head dance around as he was wheeled into a room, then moved into a bed. After a few minutes, he couldn't fight it anymore, slipping into a dreamless state of sleep.

* * *

When Dean woke, the first thing that he noticed was that Sam was sitting next to him, reading a magazine quietly. His throat felt dry and cracked as he called out to him.

"Sam. You're here?"

Placing the magazine to the side, Sam leaned in towards Dean's bed until their heads rested next to each other. "I'm here, Dean. I think I annoyed the nursing staff so much that they let me stay in here just so that I could stop bothering them." Sam stopped his babbling suddenly, taking a deep breath- he started again. He touched their heads so that he could speak quietly. "Dean. You scared me. I've never seen you get that upset before. That nurse had to sedate you, Dean. You've been sleeping for a day and a half. What happened?"

Dean gulped and licked his lips. Sam finally noticed his plight and got up to get him some water from the small pitcher resting beside him. Pouring it in a small cup, he found a straw and then brought it up to Dean's lips. Closing his eyes as he sipped at the cool liquid, it did nothing to settle him down.

Once he'd gotten his mouth to work again, he pleaded with his brother once more, "Sam, please. Please, get me out of here. Now."

Sam got up out of the chair to pace next to his bed, rubbing his jaw and mumbling under his breath, "Dean, you've got a tube in your chest. They aren't going to let you leave. You're going to be here for a couple more days; the doctor has already told me that much. Tell me why."

Now, Dean was mad. "Sam. Damn it. I'm asking you to help me. If you won't, I'll do it myself." With a hard grunt, he forced himself to sit up, grabbing hold of the railing until the dizzy spell subsided. Sam ran over to help him, surprised when Dean pushed him away with an energy he didn't know that he had. "Leave me alone, Sam."

Ripping off the stupid green snappy gown, he went about taking off the sticky patches and EKG leads, making them sound an alarm. Sam tried again to calm his brother but was pushed aside again as nurses, doctors, and a rescue team entered the room. Dean fought them like a mad-man, kicking and punching anyone who tried to touch him.

"I want to leave! Get the hell off of me! I have a right to refuse treatment and I'm leaving! You can't stop me!" Dean's chest was heaving as he ripped out the IV, blood and saline droplets soon covered the floor in his rush to escape.

His hand went to his chest, and that's when Sam acted. He grabbed hold of his brother, wrapping his arms around his chest as gently as he could before whispering frantically in his ear to calm down. "Dean, listen. Okay, I'll help you. Alright? Just don't take that out. We'll have the doctor do that and then we'll leave, alright? I promise."

Sam turned towards Dr. Bruce, who'd run in to check on his patient. "Dr. Bruce, my brother wants to leave. He doesn't want to stay. Is it safe to take out the tube now? You said that it had to stay in at least a couple of days. It's been two days…"

Dr. Bruce seemed upset but nodded. "That'd be fine. We were planning on taking it out tomorrow, however if you are going to fight us and get upset, it won't help matters much." Taking the chair that Sam had occupied, he sat down and pulled on a pair of gloves. The nurses assisted him as he worked, first mentioning to him the risks of pulling out the tube so soon. "You understand, of course, there are risks. Your lung could re-collapse. You can wrap your ribs, though I won't recommend it because of the bruising, and take an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory if it becomes painful. I hope that you will re-consider your stay. Perhaps your brother can get your things ready for you while the nurses get your discharge AMA papers?"

Sam got the hint as he walked out of the door and let the doctor talk to Dean.

Once he was out of earshot, Dean became defensive, "What do you know? And what did you tell my brother?"

Dr. Bruce stood up, "Mr. Winchester, yes, we did receive your medical history reports from our medical database. And to be frank with you, I'm concerned."

Dean pulled out his clothes from the drawer next to the bed slowly, blinking at the dots that marred his eyesight. "Frankly, doctor, I don't care if you are concerned. It's my life!" Pulling on his pants, he looked back at the man, "Did you tell Sam?"

The doctor looked at him gravely, "No. I didn't. I respect your privacy and the privacy of all of my patients, Mr. Winchester. Since he never mentioned it to us when we questioned him about your medical history, it didn't seem right for us to bring it up to him. Can I ask what your plans are? Are you being treated?"

Slowing, Dean turned to him, pulling out the prescription bottle from his pants, showing it to him before tucking it back into his pants, "Yeah. I'm being treated. Can I go now?"

"Yes. But I truly hope that you understand, we aren't out to hurt you. We want to help." Dr. Bruce held out his hand to the young man in front of him. It was ignored.

Dean gave him a cocky smile, "Yeah, everyone is out to help. Thanks, doc, but I'm out of here. I'm not going to die in a hospital bed, I've known that since I was four years old. There's nothing you can do, so there's no point. My brother and I are leaving, and he's not going to find out; you hear me?" The smile turned cold as he spoke. It was the only thing that he had left.

Sam re-entered the room a little while later with his leather jacket and a new shirt. Helping him put it on, Sam gazed at him worriedly after that small amount of work had him breathing heavily.

Dr. Bruce watched his patient, shaking his head at the hopelessness of the situation. Pulling out his prescription pad, he filled out three forms, then handed them to his patient. He counted it as a win when they didn't enter the trash. "In case…you need them later on, alright?"

They were shoved in his pocket, before grabbing a pen from the nurse in front of him and blindly signing the X's in front of him in his hurry to leave. Signing the last one with a flourish, Dean waved aside the wheelchair. When the nurse was going to argue that it was hospital policy, the doctor shook his head, then stood aside to let them both leave.

Sam walked behind his brother, watching him as he struggled to walk because of his ribs. He waited until they were finally alone in the elevator before speaking to him. "Dean, are you sure about this?"

Dean flashed a smile at his brother, slapping him lightly on his cheek, "Yeah, I'm sure. There's nothing to worry about… I just have a thing about hospitals. I hate 'um."

Sam threw an arm around his shoulders, "You've never told me that before-."

The elevator door opened, cutting off his sentence, as he helped his brother to his car. "Oh, and Dean, If you think that I'm going to just let you do on doing what you want, you're wrong." His brother gave him a confused look. "I'm driving from now on. And we aren't taking another job for at least another month, while you heal."

Opening the passenger side door, Dean didn't need to answer his brother, the groans, and cries, as he tried to sit down, spoke for him. Once he'd finally been able to sit down, he leaned his head back against the headrest to catch his breath. His face was now pale and sweaty. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean opened his eyes to see his brother in the same position he'd been in to help him, hunched on his heels, and crouched down in front of his seat. "Could you please fix the seat for me? You know, lean it back?"

Sam turned the knob on the edge of the seat as slow as he could, lowering the seat until Dean was resting comfortably. "See, Sammy. One of the best things about this car, reclining bucket seats. Great for the honeys."

Shaking his head with mild amusement, Sam grabbed a blanket from the truck, then threw it over his brother before closing the passenger side door and getting into the driver's seat.

Turning the key, the engine roared to life. "Dean? Are we okay, now?" He waited for him to answer before putting the car into gear.

Dean looked back at Sam, shaking his head slightly, "Yeah, Sam. We're okay. Life's too short for me to be mad at you for too long. Of course, if you wreck my car, I'll have to kill you."

"I've heard that one before. I think you need to come up with a new line," Sam joked, not really expecting a come-back. Dean leaned back, head looking out the window as they drove away from the hospital. He looked ready to sleep.

Unfortunately, sleep wasn't coming. Staring at the bricks that housed so many hurt, injured, and dying people, he couldn't wait until it left his sight. He wanted to be brave; to not let a building scare him. Hell, it wasn't even haunted, in the supernatural sense. But it did haunt him. All hospitals did. They did from the moment he'd walked into one almost two years ago. He'd walked in, afraid that he would never walk out again.

They told him to fight- fight an invisible enemy. And that was something he'd never done before. There were things in this world that no one else saw but him; monsters out there that destroyed people's lives on a daily basis and those were the things that he could fight. Yet, the doctors, nurses, aids, and techs kept trying to make him believe that the one thing he couldn't see, it was microscopic and hidden within his own body, was out to kill him.

But he did fight, he fought every day until they told him that they'd destroyed it. The invisible enemy was defeated; he wasn't used to an enemy that he'd fought coming back for seconds. Usually, if he killed it, it'd stay dead.

But it didn't this time, it came back when it knew that he was at his weakest; And now, the fight was on again; problem was, it was stronger now, fully powered and ready to do it's worst.

He'd fight it, Dean promised himself. But it wasn't going to put him in a hospital, it wasn't going to take away his life again. Not now, not when his brother needed him, his father needed him.

Sam drove away, turning on the car stereo to interrupt the quiet. The radio played softly, not of his usual hard rock collection, a song he'd never heard with a voice that seemed heavenly. She spoke of immortality, love, and loss- and that she'd never forgotten.

Dean let it soothe him, relaxing for the first time since he'd left the Asylum.

He'd be okay-there was nothing in this world that he and his family couldn't fight.


End file.
